Thursday, May 28, 2009

As I mentioned in the previous posting, my son seems to have an in with the dude in the sky. I mentioned that this might not be a bad thing for me, that, perhaps, the big fella might toss some karma my way.

Well, it seems, Zoogin (not his real name) said something to his buddy because my wife called and told me she convinced Best Buy to take the Apple TV doorstop that my sisters gave me for my birthday. The drunken deadbeat brother in law slipped and mentioned how he had over $500 worth of apple gift cards and credits thanks to his 40th birthday and how he bought the gift for me and still had more than $250 left.

Well, I have taken his regift, which he got cash from my other sister for, and added to the regift chain. I had no receipt so I couldn't return it anywhere other than apple and apple is a store that I wouldn't be able to use a $1 credit at because I don't buy their products. So, I told my wife to turn it in at best buy and get little Zoogin his dsi for his upcoming birthday. The dsi is my mother in law's gift to him. I told my wife to get the dsi, games, case etc until she spends the full $220.

Well guess what?

She returned it at Best Buy, after convincing the floor manager to let her speak to the store manager who immediately said yes. And how much does this pointless device sell for at Best Buy? $270 (with the tax). That's right. I got an extra $50 by returning it at Best Buy.

So, the boy got the dsi, a starter kit (whatever that is), two games and 2 years of insurance for $30 out of pocket.

My mother in law is going to demand I take money and I won't take it. I'll explain the pay it forward deal and how, thanks to Z's being bff with the holy dude, it would behoove me to pass the favor along lest we upset the chain and cause biblical issues like brimstone or frog plagues or some such shit.

Thanks go out to Zoogin for wanting the dsi and mentioning it to his buddy God.Thanks to my wife for being, her words here, a persistent bitch and getting this thing out of my life.Thanks to Best Buy for selling this pointless piece of shit for $50 more than apple does.Thanks to the store manager for listening to the holy whispering in his ear that said "thou shalt take this fruity piece of shit back from this family, they've been through enough."And now, since I will never be able to do this on a grander stage than my pathetic blog, never be able to broadcast my thanks like mvps, oscar winners etc, I'm gonna do it here.

Thanks to my wing man, my hero, GOD, for giving me the courage to suggest my wife go to the Best Buy on 86th street instead of the one on 45th and 5th. Without my faith in GOD, I'd still be using the apple tv as a doorstop and a box to prop up other boxes.GOD you rock.

When I came home last night, my son, ZooginMcNoogin (not his real name) ran up to me and said "dad, I learned the ten commandants today."

"Do you mean commandments?" I asked.

"Those too," was his response.

Zoogin goes to pre-k in a synagogue and, as a result, there's some religious education tossed into the paste eating and finger painting.

Before I could get the ten commandants from my son, my daughter comes racing over on her razor scooter. She uses the scooter to get around the apartment because it's fucking tiring walking the 20 feet from one room to the other. She says "dad, I can read your mind." "I just need a pen, paper and two cups," she tells me.

So, I tell her to get the cups, the pen, the paper and I tell Zoogin to have a seat and I will change and then he can tell me the commandants and she can read my mind.

She then quickly adds that it wasn't a big deal but, she said, "I told him God didn't like that."(Zoogin seems to bring up the big guy quite a lot these days, even threatened my wife with a god is watching you type remark)

I asked the sitter what Zoogin's response was to the announcement that God didn't like him pushing his sister.

"He didn't see it, he was busy eating dinner," was Zoogin's response.

Zoogin, it seems, has a direct line to the man upstairs. I'm hoping this works out for me down the road because, given the other shit in my life, having an "in" with god might be a good thing for me.

So, I quickly change and I head back out to the table. My daughter says "dad, I know what you're thinking about" and she starts writing.

I ask her what I'm thinking about and she holds up the paper.

"Hot Chicks" is written on the page.

I tell my daughter I'm always thinking of hot chicks. She then starts tearing up paper and writing on the cups for some trick that turns out to be not a trick and she did it wrong and it made no sense but I pretended to be mystified by her mad mind reading skills and she seemed genuinely thrilled by it all.

Then I gave Zoogin the floor.

Ok Z, give me the Ten Commandants, According to Zoogin.so, without further adieu, here they are.

10. Don't Lick9. Don't eat in the bedroom8 Try not to pee in your pants (I think this is actually one of the Ten Suggestions)7. Be Respectful of Everyone6. Don't Kill. (he then fell to the floor, legs akimbo, playing dead and said "don't make someone like this forever. I guess he felt I needed help with the don't kill part)5. Be nice to moms and dads or brothers and sisters and boyfriends and girlfriends4. Don't say bad words like stupid or idiot or shit (he whispered the last one)3. Love Everybody2. Don't Jump on the couchIt should be noted that the last one, the primo commandant according to Zoogin was, originally, I love my daddy but his sister informed him that announcing he loved his daddy wasn't a commandment so he had to pick another one. And picking another one led to...1. Don't pick your boogers.

There you have it. Follow those ten commandants and you shall find yourself in heaven, waiting on God, who's probably too busy eating dinner to welcome you.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I've been debating posting any of this crap as it will either make me look like I'm seeking pity or some other shit and I'm not. I think it might just be nice to get it off my chest and, since I will probably wind up sending an email to a few of the parties involved, it might actually help.

So, be forewarned. It isn't funny. It isn't happy. It is nothing more than the shit I deal with on a daily basis.

This weekend, after a nice day spent at our beach club, we packed up the kids and headed to my parents' place. Over the course of the weekend I swallowed my tongue on several occasions as my brother in law created more chaos that I have to clean up.

For starters, he told my dad he was moving out. Vacating the office space we shared. So, my father and I discussed it and I said I had a tenant if he was really moving. "He's gone. End of May the space is available."

So I got a tenant. Same amount the deadbeat was supposed to pay. Then, in talking to the new tenant, I found that he only needed one of the offices and I found us a second tenant. So, we went from carrying this piece of shit to actually reducing our rent. Win win.

Until Saturday night. I went out to dinner with the deadbeat and my sister and another couple who we are both friendly with. (don't ask how he can afford to dine out at an expensive restaurant, it's beyond me). Over the course of the meal he's talking up how he's "streamlining" his company, focusing on one area to maximize profits etc. Truth is, he's abandoning the old company and his wife will start a new that he will work for. This way he won't drag his shitty history into yet another company. Someone at the table asked him where he was moving his offices to. He said he wasn't moving. I was perplexed and I asked him about it. He said "I told your father I was moving into one office."

Great, now I need to tell one tenant he's out and reduce the rent of the other guy because he's taking less space as a result of the non-moving piece of shit.I get the chaos, he lies to either me or my dad and winds up with free rent.

Sunday night, the whole family has a big dinner. This means the deadbeat has been drinking since 3 and by 8 at night, he's a fat, slurring sweaty mess. After the meal, my son, his kids, my older sister, my other brother in law, my wife, my mother and the other kids are all sitting around the table talking. My dad, my daughter and the deadbeat's wife are all watching tv in another room. The phone rings. My brother in law (the good one) picks up the phone. It's the bank calling for my father. I take the call, figuring, cold call. Who else calls on Sunday night?

Turns out it's a serious call. My father's line of credit is way overdrawn and way behind in payments. My father has no line of credit. Well, he does but he obtained it, using a business I own with him and my sisters, for the deadbeat. So, the deadbeat is behind and overdrawn. I explain to the woman on the phone that I will handle the overdraft and the late payments Tuesday morning, as soon as the bank opens and I hang up. My brother in law, who is overdrawn and late, goes into a nice little riff on how my father must be getting old and he probably can't manage all of his accounts anymore and that would be why he is bouncing checks and late on his payments.

Um, right. You fucking leech.

I say nothing.

Monday we go fishing. Me, my kids, my older nephew, deadbeat and his kids. We're out for about 2 hours when the kids (his) want to head in and get yoohoos and candy. So, we pack up and go. We pull into the marina and I'm going to tie us up but I see no lines. I ask if they (the deadbeat and the older nephew) if they can grab some lines. My nephew jumps up and starts opening compartments, looking for lines. The bloated deadbeat? Sits there, pointing to the compartment next to him. He could lean over and grab the lines without lifting more than half an over sized ass cheek. Does he? No. He points. My nephew has to walk around the boat to grab the lines. He does. As I'm tying up, the deadbeat jumps off, grabs his kids and heads up, leaving me, the kids, my dad and my nephew to tie up. I help my daughter off and she follows them up. The rest of us tie up with my dad and my son hanging out.

I finish tying up, grab my nephew and my son and up we go. We stop to check out the fishermen filleting their hauls. As we head up to the marina my nephew, who is 14, says "you think deadbeat's gonna ask for money?"He's 14 and he sees it.

Sure as shit, the door to the shop slams open and the fat fuck comes barrelling out mumbling "is he coming up or do I have to down and get the money from him?"

Fucking guy rushes off and doesn't bring money.

Total scumbag.

I head into the shop and I ask how much for the kids' stuff and one more yoohoo and a bag of skittles.

$8.

This piece of shit couldn't spring for $6 worth of shit for three kids (I added my son to the mix afterward).

I paid.

Back on the boat and then to the marina that we dock the boat in. I hop off the boat, one foot on, one off to get the 4 kids off. Fatty sits there, doesn't move.I contemplate dropping his annoying kids into the water.

I walk the kids up to the waiting cars and then head back to our slip to help tie up. My father is backing up the boat as my nephew is keeping us from banging into stuff.

Fatty sits.

If there was an Olympic event for sitting and sweating, he'd be banned from the sport for being too fucking good.

I tie up. My nephew offloads 7 rods and heads up to put them in the car. Fatty grabs a small rod and leaves for the car.

I tie up and I carry my kids shoes, sweatshirts, hats, my binoculars (gift from a friend, wanted to try them out - very cool), my father's stuff, some other shit that needs to be repaired and deadbeat's kids stuff.

that's right, this fat lazy piece of shit was sitting in the car while I carried his shit.

We head home and I'm sitting, alone, with my brother in law (the good one). We're away from everyone. We're sitting there talking and he asks for my take on the yacht club thing. Along with milking my old man for $100k and more in cash, he's requested (presumably with my sister) that my parents buy them a yacht club membership to go with the golf club membership they buy him each year.

I tell the good one that I think it's a joke. I tell him I can't believe the balls of this guy, asking for all that money and then asking for golf and yacht club memberships. I say, if it were me, I'd cut back before taking but, on the bright side, the house will be much quieter (a reference to their annoying whiny kids and the screaming deadbeat does). The good one says "yeah, it will be quieter until lunch, not like they'll pay for lunch."Then he laughs and says "no, wait, he'll charge that to your dad too."

I tell him not to be so sure. I tell him how my father cut off the house account on the membership when the cheap fuck charged $10 worth of golf balls to my dad. Every week for two months.

Suddenly, my mother screams at me. She calls me jealous. She says I'm acting like a little girl. I just shake my head back and forth. My mother was eaves dropping, waiting, in the house, a good 10, 15 feet away, listening to us.

I tell her I am acting like a big girl and it ends there.

Or so I thought.

I decide to let it go. I know now that my mother is willing to destroy what's left of her relationship with her son, her blood, in an effort to protect this piece of shit.

There's no point discussing it with her as she will accuse me of having a persecution complex and god knows what else. Guess what? When someone eaves drops and waits for 20 minutes before alerting you to their presence, you should have a persecution complex because you're being monitored and observed for wrongdoing.

I decided late Monday night that I am finished with this bullshit. I am no longer going to be involved in dealings with this crap. It's boring. It depresses me and the hurt and aggravation isn't going to make my life better.

Then my dad comes to work today.

He says he spoke with deadbeat and that we should

and I cut him off. I say, very calmly, "listen, it's best if you deal with the new tenant and deadbeat. I'm tired of being in the middle and being blamed for all the problems. I'm tired of having everyone watch me with a scornful eye when they don't know the whole story and I'm tired of listening to one thing and having to play fix and clean up when the truth finally comes out. From now on, you deal with it and I won't be put into positions that make my life difficult."

My father goes mental. I'm a shit stirrer. I'm this I'm that.

So I tell him, I tell him how his golden boy said he was too old to manage his own account and how I sat there, biting my tongue. My old man accused me of making this up. He called my brother in law (the good one) to confirm. I walked out.

My father, too, has offered me up as a sacrifice so as to protect my brother in law from...?

From what?

I'd say they're protecting my sister from knowing she married a deadbeat but I think she knows that.

How could she not?

So, I leave. I go to verizon to deal with some shit, I get myself lunch etc.

I come back and there's a check from the deadbeat's business account, payable to my company, on my desk.

What the fuck? $2,194? He doesn't owe me anything. I don't want his money.

My father comes in to talk about something and asks "did you see the check?""um, yeah dad. why is he paying me with money that is going to be taken from you anyway? why am I getting money?"

Apparently, he's paying me for the work I did. I didn't do any so I'm considering this some lame fucking attempt to buy me off.

It won't work.

I'm drafting an email to the two people who claim to be my parents and I'm explaining to them the concept of love and blood and all that crap. I'm explaining that even Jeffrey Dahmer's mother probably sat and showed support when he was on trial.

Friday, May 22, 2009

The pain sits behind my right eye. It's a dull throb when it ebbs and a serrated knife twisting around and around when hits its peak. The pain is so bad that it makes me want to vomit. It's brutal. When the throb turns to knife, the sweat comes. Little spiders crawling through my hair, twisting and weaving over my scalp, down to my neck, meeting and joining with other spiders. Bigger now. Fat rivulets sliding down my chest and back.

This is how I woke up this morning. This is how I showered. I was actually sweating in the shower. Is that even possible. I showered, I tried to dry off and the water kept pouring out of me. I drank two bottles of water to try and replenish my already low supply. My futil attempt at hydration resulted in the nausea. I guzzled the water making my stomach ache as much as my head.

Well done Floogin.

I went back to bed. I never do this.

I woke up at 8. Let's see....nausea? Check....Burning, aching throb in the head? Check....Take another shower.

Second shower didn't help.

Got dressed, using the Lamaze breathing whenever the pain grew to the point of unbearable, creating the urge to spew water and whatever else was residing in my gut.

Noticed the blood on the pillowcase. Not much but where the fuck did that come from? Ran to the bathroom, looked for cuts on my face, neck, shoulders. Found none.

Ebola?

Maybe.

Got myself dressed, still doing the Lamaze thing, trying to will the pain away.

My son is on cloud nine, Daddy's taking him to school today.

Daddy's wishing for death and can't let the little guy see how miserable he is. So, off we go, holding Floogin Junior's hand. It's hot out,I'm walking with my boy, the dull throb is almost bearable when, suddenly, my hair is wet, my shirt is sticking to my body, I'm blinded by pain and, if I had any food in me, I'd be puking right there, on the sidewalk, possibly on my kid.

I'm considering handing my son off to someone and leaping in front of a bus when I hear his voice, faint, barely audible over the pounding in my head and the normal morning chaos and cacaphony.

"This is the best day ever daddy. I love you. I want to walk to school with you every morning."

And through this agony, this blinding pain, this vomit swallowing hell, I'm smiling. Beaming.

I get to the school and the teacher shows me the book my son put together. They all did a "this is me" type book. Pictures they drew with things like "I'm 4, My favorite color is blue" and so on.

I flip through the book and there, at the end , the last page I see.

I'm happiest when "my daddy plays with me alone."I'm sad when "my daddy plays with my sister."When I grow up I want to be "a daddy like my daddy, he's the best."

I'm still swallowing bile, sweating and near death, dying from the pounding in my head but I'm smiling. Big time.

Sadly, I am supposed to meet a friend for drinks tonight and the thought of vodka is making me want to puke. Yes, it's a hangover, not a tumor or some other horrific thing.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

I referred to someone, ok, I referred to a group of people as halftards and the recipient of this comment mentioned that they liked the word but never heard it. I realized that I made it up. Right there, on the spot, I referred to this group as halftards without a thought.

So, I realized, a definition was needed. Etymology is simple. It comes from ancient McNoogin.halftardhahf tahrdnounsomeone who is too fucking stupid to be worth the time, not retarded enough to qualify for sympathy.

Halftards are lower on the social scale than a fucktard because fucktards are often thought to be acting intentionally retarded to garner sympathy or annoy the shit out of you. Halftards are really retarded without the clinical diagnosis.

So, I've been bored with myself of late. I finished the bulk of the clusterfuck of work and I have found myself unable to sit still or do much of anything. I can't focus, can't write, the weather mostly sucks so there's no point leaving early to enjoy the day. Some anonymous halftard (see how it's used) thought I should write about the gum on the bottom of my shoe. I thought that odd since I did have gum on the bottom of my shoe but this anonymous person, who's old enough to still say Jay is no Johnny and Johnny was no Jack Parr, apparently knows about the gum. So, I wonder, did they put it there? Did they raid my closet one night and check my shoes for gum? Is it commonplace to have a wad of gum underfooot?

No, can't be. This wad is not the standard gray or green. It's brown. It has a couple of hairs stuck in it. It's gross and I know, you're thinking "Floogin, you halftard (again, proper usage), that's not gum, it's shit."

Well, I know it isn't shit. It's too gooey to be shit, it doesn't smell like shit and it has a slight mint taste to it so who's the halftard? (again, see that usage?)

Speaking of shit. I've heard people say "oh, he's such an ass, he thinks his shit don't stink."

Not about me but, I'm sure, someone, somewhere, has said it or thought it and, I think, perhaps, now is as good a time as any to address this issue.

I can walk into the bathroom, inhale and get a whiff of someone else's eau d'anus and the first thing that comes to mind (after "mmm, peppers and cheese") is "lightweight."

The shit they drop might make a kid gag but the presence of a kernel of my shit leaves a thick residue on the windows which kinda sucks if you want to crack the window for some air but, otherwise, it's downright amazing. The room becomes a shit sauna where anyone who enters must endure the rectal vapors and the pungeont air and if they are fortunate enough to merely swallow their vomit, well, good on them.

How the hell did I go from gum on my shoe to brown airy joy? Blame that anonymous halftard who thought gum on my shoe was as good a topic as the mistakes I made in my life.

Everything I've done in my life has led to something else and, having not yet experienced a living dead end, I can say there've been no mistakes.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Seriously. Nothing. My life has been so damned boring, there's nothing to make fun of, nothing to brag about, nothing to rant about and nothing to rave about.

I've been buried in work when I shouldn't be. It sucks but, on the bright side, the weather has, for the most part, sucked lately. Two days of sun bookended by a week of rain. Nasty shit that makes the weekends suck even more.

No trip at the end of the month. Cancelled. Swine flu issues made me afraid to leave the kids behind.

I'd talk about how the sports reporters are all talking about the decline in last year's superstars as a result of age and not one has mentioned the possibility that (gasp) maybe they were all juicing and now that they've stopped, age is catching up to them. Yes, this means Big Papi, Moyer, Jeter, Giambi, Sheffield et al. They all cheated, now they need to face aging. I'd talk about it but it's fucking boring.

I'd talk about how my kids will be in Issue 54 of the Spiderman Adventure Book Series, out in August (with Spidey holding up a bunch of cars while staring at a young girl on the cover) but it isn't out yet so there's no point telling you to go buy it.

I'd talk about lots of things, if I had something to say. Has a mild depression settled over our hero? Can he pop out of this normalcy and return to his bumbling oaffish ways?

Friday, May 08, 2009

What the hell is it lately? It has pretty much rained some Noah type rains for about a week. Sun is finally out but the forecast is for thunderstorms later today and tonight. All this shitty weather has managed to cast a pall over the city. Everyone's in a shitty mood. Hell, it seems like it might be a global thing.

Over the last 3 days I've heard nothing but misery. Divorce, separation, misery.

That's all I'm hearing.

Isn't the spring supposed to bring out life? Isn't this the time where people are happy again? Weddings. Proms. Graduation. Fishing starts up again. Beaches open, pools open. Parks are filled with kids.

And, yet, everyone's pissed off, depressed or just unhappy.

Can't be the economy, can it? Has the global economic downturn evolved into a globlal mental downturn? Is our collective psyche in synch with the economy?

Can the job instability, the shrinking income, the increasing cost of living all be adding up to equal personal misery?

Sure as shit seems that way.

Is there anything we can do? Besides the usual Floogin method of "fuck it," I'm not sure what else can be done. Ride it out, hope it ends without too many casualties and move on.

So, cheer up, it's not all gloom and doom. Someone, somewhere, is making money in this shitty economy. Someone, somewhere just got a blow job. Someone, somewhere is happy.